


My Meisters Ghost

by ClutteredHeadspace



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Angst, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Guilt, One Shot, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:24:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4971622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutteredHeadspace/pseuds/ClutteredHeadspace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short introspective piece. Spirit's head is a dark place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Meisters Ghost

 Disclaimer: I don't own anything Soul Eater. Spirit simply fascinates me.

*~*   

     He watches her fight. A guardian angel too far from grace, grounded by the weight of his own sins he's nothing more than a gagged witness as she charges heedless into danger. It still feels wrong to watch her in combat, he knows her moves intimately, it was once his own blade that whistled in counterpoint to that spin, his staff that spun and defended in that whirling tableau of movement. It's been heart stopping to watch her evolve from the hesitance and desperation of a green student into the grace and control of one of the academy's elite combatants. In the fire in her eyes and the reckless charge into danger he sees a flicker image of another woman's face, the angles and planes don't quite match up but the eyes and the focused expression are an echo of her Mothers. The sharp twists and head-long rushes have Her mark on them and it makes his old scars itch below the fall of his coat, taints each breath with the memory of copper and the sharp bite of ambition. Sometimes it's like watching a ghost play out a memory in the rippling real time images of distant streets. However when she slips in a dodge with boneless otherworldly grace her mothers ghost disappears and an older one moves in to take her place. Training and teachings drilled into her through years of schooling revealed in the shift of her weight and the confidence of her movements, this ghost has no blood tie to her. His only mark is on her training, the drilling of cool calculation into her youths fiery drive, subtle instruction subconsciously absorbed until her movements could be His. It's this recognition of Him that calls to him the most, a different pain, a different failure it settles heavy into the oily useless feathers of his wings like a chill even as his blood flares in trained awareness. 

     He wishes he could talk to her, just once, to ask her if she's just going through the motions or if she's realized what is actually going on. However she has made it clear that there is nothing that she wishes to learn from him. A line drawn in the sand that he hasn't been brave enough to challenge. The risk of losing her entirely more then he can bare so he remains silent, his questions unvoiced as he watches her charge into battle. Has she noticed that her Weapon has grown lighter, sharper, faster? That even when the battle is over the boy's eyes never stop watching her? Have they realized that even when they're in separate places their souls beat in counterpoint to each other? Has she realized what it really means to be a Meister? That every decision she makes is reflected in the gleam of his steel and the scars on his flesh. Does she know that her Weapon is slowly being forged and refined by the heat of her own soul with every moment they spend togeather? That he may carry his blade within his soul but that it gets it's edge from her? He wonders if she would even understand what he means, he's an old Weapon, tempered by His madness and given an edge by Her ambition. His daughters soul is a Meisters, tempered to it's core with a foreign alloy that he can't breach and deaf with youths invulnerability. 

 

     She is no longer the smiling child that looked to him for guidance. Her eyes are cold and bitter when she sees him, a decade of pain and disappointment forcing him away to linger on the very edges of her life. He supposes that there is some irony in how even when she looks at him she doesn't see him, much like her mother before her. Except at least to Her he was valuable: a means to an end, a lover of convenience, in later times the scapegoat for every short-fallen dream. In the end both himself and Her drove their daughter away from him. His sins and Her carefully edited truth tainted her memories until she can't stand to breath the same air as him. Yet he's still so proud of her it hurts. She has risen beyond every challenge with more grace and skill then he could ever envision. She is all the best parts of him, few though they may be, and though there may be no blade slumbering within her soul the steel is present; melding with her will and her pride until he swears her eyes alone could cut down an opponent. He hopes that she better then both himself and Her ever were, that she doesn't go brittle and cold as She did. He thinks she will be. He's watched her learn from Him, absorbing lessons that Her pride would never have allowed Her to attend to. He's watched her bloom both within the tending shelter of the Academy, and through the storms of war and combat beyond its protective walls. The girls wings are just beginning to come in. Gleaming white with the softness his never had. She's slowly learning how to use them, and already souls are beginning to flock to her lured in by the unconscious promise of flight. He's watched with unease as her Weapon has noticed the change as well, however the boy has had the decency to understand that she is something that is to be protected, not sullied. Though he wonders how long that will last, he knows at least that if the time ever comes and someone dares to damage that which he's watched bloom...

 

     ... Well this time he'll have an accomplice to one last sin.

**Author's Note:**

> It's not much but I felt that I should finally take the plunge and at least post something. I've read a lot of incredible stories on here and you are all incredible. :)  
> Constructive criticisms welcome. I'm rusty at writing so feedback is appreciated.


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